I would trust him. But I want his thoughts on this.
I know most messaging programs have dice rollers, so if we are on at the same time we can roll that way.
If kidko would rather just post rolls on board, or if he knows a way not requiring us both on at once, great. Up to him.

In a flash of light the massive rings of the Warp Gate appeared. It consisted of nothing but a fusion engine and the massive girders that held the FTL conduits over the space of several thousand cubic meters of vacuum. Alone within it was the Lance Destroyer Muffin. 80 meters at it's furthest dimension, it was but a highly detailed speck within the great skeleton of metal.

Captain Torn sat in the main con chair, deep within the control sphere of the mighty Muffin. He watched the flashing rave of spectral colors on the framework of the dimension sheering technology that surrounded them. The crew had it's orders for travel, and now there was but one word.
"Engage!" was what he had wanted to say his entire career. All occupants were pressed back into their seats as the fusion drives unleashed the energy of matter destroying itself on the fundamental levels, pushing them at 0.5gs.

Once Muffin was clear of the Warp Gate's frame, it's fine details flashed blue, then for less then a second it was a brilliant white shadow, then nothing, returned to it's home system safe and sound.

For the initial 8 hours that the ship would spend accelerating Captain Torn advised current shift remain at it's post. "Coms, monitor all communication traffic passively. I want a fair sampling of all transmitted data crossing this system's space." "Aye sir!" replied the British accent typical of at least one literate man in every group these days. "Good. Sensors, multispec scopes on passive starting from our destination and working ever outward until you have scanned all around us. I want a full report on the trajectory of every bit of debris we can see from here by tomorrow. Inform all shifts to continue this work." wooh, that was a long winded order. The blue haired creature at the scope post replied. "Yes sir!" with the faintest of Asiatic influence. Blue hair, interesting mutation these days. Heard rumors some people dyed their hair that color on purpose, though.

And with that set, now it was time to begin the waiting... 40 days there, 40 days back. Short tour of duty, one mission, but if they pulled it off they'd be paid well.

The numbers seem a bit insane, and yet I've re-checked every time and I can't find out what's wrong with it. Everything comes out right! That and I managed to double the ton estimate I made in the beginning...

Muffin is bumped by a micrometeorite. The captain listens as the fluid layer of armor sloshes and ripples from the hypersonic impact.

Day 8.

The crew is beginning to settle in. Captain Torn is pleased with the quiet, gives him time to catch up on his reading. But the quiet only leads to the eventual restlessness. Which the 1st Officer makes sure to remind him, "Time to shake the tree before the crew gets the idea to shake it themselves!" the hairless man exclaimed upon entering the captain's room. Captain Torn looked up from his text in mild annoyance, addressing his feelings on this to Officer Timbrel. "Ok, fine... what brilliant line of seemingly pointless activities do you have planned. I know you, I approve, just tell me and leave me out of it." Timbrel chuckled, and laid out the full plan, "Phase one, shipboard combat and survival drills. Tedious, over informative, there are tests after wards." Torn rolled his eyes, and Timbrel continued unabated. "Phase two, rest, several days in between test drills, short and simple with a few reminders." Torn nodded, beginning to not listen as he started to get back into the written entertainment. "Phase three, which we begin just a week before braking maneuvers, if not sooner... simulated combat GAMES! I rigged up everything we need for simulated ship-board combat and have already worked out how to safety lock sensitives in game." At this Torn had to stop and laugh. He tossed the text aside, letting it's curving scrolls sail gently against the wall as he drifted from the ceiling, "Mister Timbrel, that is great. None of your other plans ever involved... making the ship a sport's arena." Timbrel shrugged and kept his ear to ear grin, "Never had the right size ship, crew, or enough time. So called long patrols always had those frequent stops and crew changes. Things got shook up for me. We finally have our own ship, our own space, our..." Torn stopped Timbrel, barely audible was the grunt, barely visible was the shift in expression, but it reminded Timbrel of a chilled wind, "Timbrel..." he said slowly, now changing his expression with raised brow, eyes wide, head turning to look at the Officer sideways, "...this is nowhere near our own space. We are very, very deep behind enemy lines. If we miss either rendezvous, if we miss the target, if we encounter an enemy with so much as half our strength, we may never see home again..." Timbrel's face had become expressionless stone, falling into a stance of full attention as he listened to the Captain pour this out to him. And then continued to stand there in the awkward silence, waiting for just a bit of that tension to clear... Timbrel responded with a slap on the Captain's shoulder that almost sent both into either wall and a response with a big grin, "And that's exactly what I'll keep the crew from feeling, while reminding them of it every moment. Fear not, for we are in danger!" and he left the room with a booming laugh, Captain Torn chuckling to himself. Torn sighed to relax his lungs, and began fixing himself a light bread meal while he mulled over what was just discussed. "Best people I could find, with the best attitudes... Creator help us."

Muffin, unreflective beige carbon skin, growing slowly cooler as time passed, it hurtled ever forward at speed few objects attained naturally. It carried some of the brightest, specially selected individuals across the unlighted void to uncertainty.